It’s happened to us all. Life is good, everything’s on track, and suddenly, it all crumbles. Maybe someone isn’t feeling it, or feeling up someone else, or perhaps you both make each other complete and utter psychopaths and you simply need to get as far away from each other as possible.
Love is such a beautiful thing.
And also terrifying and confusing and excruciatingly painful. But that’s where we come in. For every all-night scream match you have to endure, there are five mimosas ready to go for you somewhere else. For every time you just want to give up, there’s a drunk guy at the bathroom door waiting to validate you. And thank God for him. Here’s where you need to be when sh*t hits the fan.
She just wasn’t that into you dude. And by that we mean, just a little bit more into that triathlon guy she hooked up with at a Zac Brown Band concert last summer. That was technically before she met you, but let’s just say their Snapchat remains active. Oh well, it was only four months out of your life. You’ll get back on the horse soon enough, and there isn’t a better stable in town than the one at Q’s Brentwood. Grab a couple of the nearest bro-buds, turn your hat backwards, and go impress that UCLA ‘15 grad who’s just dying to tell you about her on-camera acting class today with your trivia skills.
ENOUGH OF THE LIES TRAVIS. We all knew you were on Hinge because you were talking to Amy and that’s how a mutual friends feature f*cking works. Jesus. So, things obviously didn’t end well with Travis, but you just open-throated three tequilas on the rocks over at Davey Wayne’s and now you need saving. Head to Canter’s. Nothing’s better at 3am than passing out on top of their delicious hot pastrami sandwich and then crying to your Uber driver about how you forgot your to-go box on the table.
Whatever. He was a complete asshole and you deserve to be 25 and single anyway. Grab the girls, let’s get rowdy. And tonight’s about you and no one else. SADDLE RANCH TIME. Go get yourself the best 3,000 calorie BBQ Chicken Chop Salad in town, make out with a guy from Tucson with a Warped Tour tattoo, and ride that mechanical bull like your goddamn life depends on it. Because tonight, maybe it just does. Fck the h8ters.
You blew it. She was the one and yet you decided watching the Lakers lose again was more important than her sister’s engagement party. Back to drawing board, bud. Happy Endings is exciting because you can literally do whatever you want here and that’s clearly what you were looking for in the first place. There’s karaoke not once but twice a week, and that’s always fun to do alone. But if you do get the urge for a little company, you can always try pulling out one of those dead lobsters from the water tank. Maybe he’ll watch the game with you.
Well, that didn’t end well. You told her you needed someone who can “keep up” and she promptly posted $2,000 worth of your niche porn site subscription receipts on your mom’s Facebook wall. Touché, Meredith. But hey, at least it appears you make a lot of money. So put on a suit and head to Petit Trois because you’re probably a horrible person and at a 3 square feet of functional space, you won’t look stupid when no one wants to dine with you.
OK, be honest with yourself. You weren’t ready for a serious relationship and he was leaving print-outs of Tarzana real estate listings on your windshield. Sometimes you’re just on separate paths. And while his path was straight to the dog rescue, you’re grabbing the crew and getting your ass to Tokyo Delves. The weight has been lifted girl and the only way to celebrate is by restaurant-wide sake bombs and teaming up with your waiter for a Rihanna lip-sync battle. Welcome to Mars.
So you got drunk off a couple of Bud Light Limes and asked if she would consider an open relationship. Her stuff was out by the morning, and now you’re starving. The good news is Hot N’ Juicy Crawfish opens at 11:30am and you’ve got a hankering to slurp the insides of the best crustacean being served on the ground floor of a Target in the city. So pick a seasoning, a spice level, and enjoy your seafood bag of sadness with all the other guys that got dumped in LA that morning.
Code Red: Some late-night Indian food and one bad dream later, you're waking up to a horrific accident between the sheets, and now nothing will ever be the same. Love is a journey people. And while Katie was probably never going to be your wife, you need a serious pick-me-up after that. And nothing says “road to recovery” like eating with your bare hands and cheering to pre-determined stage combat in Anaheim. #BrownKnight4lyfe.
He’s gay. You were watching House Hunters: International in bed last night and now he’s gay. Gut check. You’re obviously happy for him, but also pretty humiliated and frustrated because he owns all the best furniture in the apartment. Time for mimosas. A LOT OF MIMOSAS. Simmzy’s in Manhattan Beach is full of the bubbly stuff and also guys looking for girls who drink them. You didn’t realize swaying back and forth in line for the bathroom would garner you three separate phone numbers, but it does here. And that’s the daytime validation you need at this point.
Let freedom ring. Your incessant head games finally took their toll and last night Eric bounced. You’ll realize in two weeks you’re an idiot, arguably a sociopath, and that he was perfect for you. But for now, you’ve got nothing to do and a fresh Segway Groupon you bought during the haze of last night's Skinny Girl sugar rush. So grab those orange crocs, leave your bra at home, and let God’s transportation drive you back to crazy town.
This one hurts. Three years of your life given to that girl and BOOM - it just wasn’t in the cards. And after a long night of fighting and a lot of “it’s not you, it’s me” later, you’re trying to decide what to do with that Spago anniversary reservation. You REALLY wanted to go to Spago. And so you do. You still order for two, get what Elizabeth probably would’ve ordered, and sit gazing at the tattered picture stashed in your coat pocket all these years. The last photo taken before both dying on the Titanic.